The hardest part is watching your child slowly stop acting like a child.
Then one ordinary Wednesday afternoon, bruises that shouldn't have been there changed everything.
The diagnosis came three days later.
Leukemia.
I barely remember leaving the doctor's office. I only remember holding Martha's tiny hand and thinking there had been some terrible mistake.
Martha looked up at me.
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"Mom?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Are we still getting pizza tonight?"
The diagnosis came three days later.
I burst into tears. She thought I was crying because we had to cancel dinner.
That became our life.
Hospital rooms. Blood tests. Chemotherapy.
And waiting… Always waiting.
As a single mother, I learned very quickly that there wasn't time to fall apart.
Someone still had to manage medications, argue with insurance companies, and braid the little hair Martha had left.
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